40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 702 84. Interlude: Triumphal Ceremony (III)

Yes, this is just the beginning.

Kaliphon was still adjusting his thoughts and trying to reorganize his words, but the smell of blood had already spread between Perturabo's lips and teeth.

Part of him was still here, watching his relatives who should have died in silence, while the other part of him had returned to that living hell, drowned in the sea of ​​blood, and the chains that bound him were deeply embedded in blood and flesh, almost becoming a new bone.

The demons howled, wandering over the corpses of his dead descendants and committing blasphemous acts, and the leader whispered softly

"We know that no matter how much we torture you, you will not surrender." It said, its pupils seemed to be twisted by circles of blood vessels. "But what does it matter? Violence will make you bow your head, and victory has slipped away from your hands."

"But that's not enough - the victor should have everything."

The breath of sulfur and fire erupted from its throat, and the creature turned and left him briefly, but with an uncontrollable grin. It came back soon, bringing many broken armors fished out from the sea of ​​blood and corpses.

Their iron-gray surfaces were covered with mottled rust. No matter how glorious they had been in the past, how carefully they had been maintained and expected, they were now reduced to nothingness - they should have been the strongest shield for the wearer in the face of death, but they failed.

Just like him.

The blood flames ignited, burning and melting the armor. A bloody claw reached into it and shaped it. Its owner obviously knew what he needed. In a short while, the fragments of armor gradually turned into a weapon in the blood flames.

"I want to leave some evidence of your failure." It said with a grin.

The blood flames went out, and it walked towards him with the weapon. The weapon itself was straight and sharp, shaped like a sword, but it was red hot all over, and the tip of the sword was twisted to the extreme.

So, this was not a weapon, but a branding iron.

"Abo?"

The Lord of Steel nodded calmly to show that he was still waiting, but he put his right hand down and touched his chest. It had been a long time since that failure, but the scar seemed to have not healed.

Sometimes, he would have an illusion that it was still hot.

But now was not the time to touch the old wound.

He looked up at Kaliphon, who was still suppressing her emotions, looking at him worriedly, and not touching the food on the plate.

"Why don't you continue?" he asked deliberately.

Kaliphon suddenly frowned, and she was pure anger for this sentence. Perturabo had no doubt that she would explode in the next moment. However, since tonight, his premonition was wrong for the first time.

Kaliphon's anger completely disappeared in the next moment, and there was no longer any resentment and guilt for her brother's miserable situation in her eyes, and her lips were no longer tightly pursed.

At this moment, she seemed to have suddenly returned to the past, the responsibilities of the tyrant were lifted from her shoulders, and the false reputation of the Primarch's relatives was forgotten. She no longer cared about where she was or what manners she should have.

At this moment, she was just the daughter of the tyrant in Locus City on Olympia, looking at her brother, her only remaining relative in the world.

The crystal tears slid down her face and fell on the white tablecloth. How slight was the sound? But it was not the case for Perturabo. His extraordinary hearing worked as usual at this moment, allowing him to fully capture the sound.

He only felt that the sound was like a bomb exploding in his ears, making him dizzy, so that he - the Lord of Steel - had to put down his right hand and hold the side of the bench tightly to stabilize himself.

He gritted his teeth tightly, not letting himself make any sound, but the bomb was still exploding, and more tears continued to slide down the face of the old, stupid and completely out of control woman, and a few drops even fell on the back of his left hand.

He should have felt bored, disgusted or even hateful, but he didn't. Somewhere in his heart, the soft place that had not yet been filled with the proliferation of tissue after the wound healed, cried out with human nature.

The sound sounded almost like sobbing to him.

Perturabo spoke as if talking to himself: "Don't cry."

The noise at the other end of the long table disappeared at this moment, and the three primarchs stopped their actions at this moment in tacit understanding.

Sanguinius raised his mouth corners as expected, and Rogal Dorn nodded slightly as if in agreement. Only the white-haired Robert Guilliman was confused, and the silver wine cup that should have been brought to his lips was also frozen in the air, and the Fenris mead in the cup was spinning endlessly, exuding a pungent aroma.

"What's wrong?" He carefully put down the wine glass in his hand, and then asked very carefully.

"Nothing, Robert." The Archangel smiled and made a gesture to him, representing "continue". "Just keep drinking, don't worry."

"But."

"Keep drinking." The angel still smiled and took his hand. "Listen to me."

He had done this, and Guilliman couldn't say no, so he had to raise his head and drink this glass of precious mead.

However, the taste buds of the Primarch were at least thousands of times more developed than those of ordinary people, and because of this, he tasted extremely rich flavors. Sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty and dozens of special stimuli that could not be classified by "taste" were mixed together, evenly exploded on his tongue, and rolled down his throat and fell into his stomach.

The first half was normal, but it was just the boiling hotness of the wine. However, when it hit the bottom, the heat like magma made Guilliman gasp for air instantly, and he even had a desire to eat ice cubes raw.

"Is it delicious?" the archangel asked expectantly. "This is one of the last few barrels of wine left by Russ, and we have been keeping it."

Guilliman was still hesitating, but he immediately smiled after hearing this: "It tastes very strong, worthy of Russ's craftsmanship-wait, what are you going to do?"

The archangel smiled and raised the wine jug in his hand.

"How about pouring you another glass? Are you unable to drink now, Robert?"

"No, of course not, it's just that I-"

"-Ah, I understand." The angel raised his eyebrows and put on a face of sudden enlightenment. "You don't really like mead, do you? Well, that's true, after all, you usually drink wine. It's just a pity for Rus's legacy."

Guilliman took a deep breath, raised his hand to grab the wine pot in Sanguinius's hand, and was about to pour another cup into his own cup. However, Dorn, as if he had predicted it, stretched out his right hand to stop him, and also took the wine pot from Sanguinius and put it aside.

He glanced at the angel with a slight warning, and then at Guilliman, whose forehead was already sweating, and finally couldn't help shaking his head. The former entered the venue with a smile, as if nothing had happened, while the latter only realized it at this moment.

However, he was not angry, but picked up the wine pot again and drank it all directly. Half a minute later, he put down the heavy copper pot heavily and shouted loudly: "Cheers to Rus!"

A pair of siblings at the other end of the long table cast their eyes in this direction, one coldly, and the other with tears in his eyes.

——

Khalil lowered his head and looked at the list in his hand. After confirming that it was correct, he handed it to a mechanical priest.

Although the latter's face had been completely replaced by a mechanical mechanism, the artificial eye that was constantly shrinking still expressed his happiness at the moment in a rather strange way.

Interestingly, although his face was completely transformed, his voice still sounded normal: "Thank you, sir."

"It's just a small matter, there's no need to thank me for anything." Khalil said and shook hands with him.

The priest said no more, and after a solemn salute, he boarded a transport plane. The engine roared, the strong wind blew, Khalil squinted his eyes, watched it gradually take off and disappear in the sky, and finally breathed a sigh of relief

The 50,000 crusaders that someone had taken back from a collector have since had an official status in the current empire-the list that he, the Grand Inquisitor, had just signed and stamped has made a brand new law come into effect.

But he actually doubted whether it was necessary to do so? After all, no matter how they think about it, the Mechanicus can't just leave these 50,000 Skitarii from the past and refuse to accept them.

Khalil can only temporarily understand this as some political needs and a good start.

It should be noted that everything is difficult at the beginning. What came back with the joint fleet was not only the victory news of the liberation of 500 worlds, but also some complicated tasks that were enough to make many people work overtime for many days without sleep.

For example, the return of the Skitarii, how the 10,000 auxiliary troops would be arranged by the Military Affairs Department, and most importantly, the future ownership of the 1,000 Astartes.

These problems should not be underestimated. Although he can reduce the difficulty a lot by handling them, various documents, procedures and a large number of meetings are probably inevitable.

Khalil can almost foresee how he will spend the next three days: endless meetings, meetings, running here and there, getting on and off shuttles.

It's better to throw me into the pile of orcs.

He couldn't help but complain in his heart, but his hands were not slow. He quickly took out a data board from a briefcase he carried with him. After passing the biometric verification, a document popped out. The emblem from the Executive Yuan shone under its title, which was very conspicuous.

He clicked it and frowned while reading it, not for anything else, but because of the rough treatment in this document.

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First of all, the 10,000 auxiliary troops. Before communicating with the Ministry of Military Affairs, the Executive Yuan came to the conclusion after discussion that they should be dispersed and sent to the military academies of various troops for study, and then awarded medals based on experience, years of service and military exploits, and then sent to Zhongsi Academy to serve as military instructors.

On the surface, it was a very thoughtful treatment. A 10,000-man army sounds large, but in fact it is just a drop in the bucket in any war of any intensity. It is better to let them continue to shine in this way.

But the problem is that this treatment obviously did not consider whether they agree, and -

The data board flashed again.

Carlier squinted his eyes and clicked on the prompt, and found that the Administrative Council had sent another new document. The content inside could be roughly summarized as a reversal and denial of the previous document.

This document believed that those veterans should be used as excellent examples of the propaganda department of the Ministry of Military Affairs. It would be a waste of resources to let such legendary veterans take care of children in Zhongsi Academy.

Carlier couldn't help laughing - it was really weird. The highest-level administrative agency in the empire could actually send him two completely contradictory emails one after another. This was simply a joke that couldn't be more absurd.

But he thought about it again, it seems nothing strange, after all, it is still just a discussion stage, it is normal to overturn each other's opinions. If the situation is more intense, maybe they will pick up a thick stack of documents and use them to attack each other.

Alas. He sighed helplessly. Humans are like this. To put it nicely, it is called the collision of intelligent brains, connecting flashes with flashes. To put it bluntly, in fact, no one is convinced by anyone.

There must be someone with a big fist, or someone who makes the most sense. And sometimes, these two are not contradictory.

Forget it, let them quarrel, anyway, the final execution document given to me must have the seal of the seal holder

Thinking of this, he actually laughed again, and laughed very happily. This smile has no hidden meaning, and it is clearly visible to a golden armored figure standing aside.

The tribune La Endymion groaned, and his right hand had already touched the handle of one of the two swords at his waist.

"But someone wants to kill, sir?" he asked.

".If you have nothing to do, why don't you go back and chat with your old brothers, La? Why do you have to stay here with me?"

"My lord has ordered that a guard must follow you at all times."

"Constantine sent me an email not long ago to discuss this matter. He expressed a strong willingness to recommend himself."

"That's his business." The tribune answered without looking away. "I only know that as soon as I entered the solar system, the lord handed this responsibility to my shoulders."

Khalil looked up at him, and his expression became a little complicated. Finally, his eyes fixed on the helmet in La's arms, and the fluttering red tassel was extremely conspicuous.

He slowly said: "I am a judge now, and I will probably act in this capacity in the future. Do you understand, La?"

"That's natural."

"Then-" Khalil chose his words carefully. "——Please imagine that you, a guard of the royal guard, follow me, an inquisitor."

"I can sneak."

"It has nothing to do with whether you sneak or not."

"I can also disguise myself."

Khalil sighed sincerely, waved his hand, turned around, and walked towards a shuttle parked on the tarmac. La followed quickly, his dark face was calm, seemingly serious, but his words were brisk.

"So, do you agree?"

"What if I don't agree? Come with me, the next part is the highlight. Since you want to follow me, then please think about how to place the thousand veterans for me, how about it?"

"Send them to the front line." La answered without thinking.

"I didn't say anything."

Khalil glanced at him, adjusted his wide-brimmed hat, and strode into the shuttle-but he didn't expect that Yago Sevitarion and the captains of the sub-groups had been waiting for a long time at this moment.